#short space story

[mogirl09]

Space Nerd Ahoy!

This is how I imagine a perfect day in Space. I sit down in my captain’s seat and admire the intricately designed interior of the spaceship. Despite the limited space, everything is perfectly arranged for maximum efficiency. The walls and ceilings of the spaceship’s control room are lined with metal panels, and complex instruments, computers, switches, and add-ons protrude from different corners…

[whereserpentswalk]

Humans sometimes wonder what separates them from other races like elves and dwarves and orcs, like what makes them unique. Some people say humans are generalists, some people say we're the most adaptable. But actually there is something that stands out about us that all the other races find super weird. Humans are the only sentient creature to reproduce sexually like animals do, and because of that we're the only species with romantic or sexual attraction, and ideas like sex and gender.

Elves and dwarves create new members of their races slowly and methodically, like works of art. Harpies, angels, demons and dragons are all individually and personally created by their gods. Orcs and goblins are spawned from spawning pits on mass. Merfolk come close with how they lay and fertilize eggs, but even then any individual merfolk can both lay eggs and fertilize, and they don't meet when they do it. Vampires and other undead are spawned from other races. Fae just sort of show up.

So the idea of having sexes, and genders constructed around them, and sexual and romantic relationships is all incredibly weird for other races. Most humans don't notice it because they just naturally assign members of other races genders when they meet them.

Diffrent races have diffrent ideas around these constructs. But most of them find it some level of confusing. A lot of them just ignore it. But it's really disturbing for some, romantic relationships seem like weird bonds that can't be explained, like some sort of unexplainable and volatile connection. Sexual attraction seems like some dark animalistic instinct. Gender is incomprehensible, and also seems wrong and immoral to most races. And sex itself seem like the darkest of any reproductive ritual or magic. Because of all of this humans who don't experience some or any of these things often have an easier time connecting with other races.

This has also lead scholars to belive that humans are the only sentient race to evolve naturally. Something often thought impossible before studies on humans occurred.

[digitalsymbiote]

Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

--

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

[lunaiz4-misc]

By the time the humans invented wireless Internet, the aliens had already been monitoring the RF bands on and in the vicinity of Earth for decades. Well, they didn't have decades - that was a human concept - but many full orbits of the little blue planet around its yellow star.

The packet encryption broke easily when subjected to advanced computing techniques, and soon they were able to pick up, decode, and even send information on the "world wide web." Wary of being detected, they were careful to limit their queries, but even a severely restricted ability to actually *ask questions* made the xenoscience division go starry-eyed.

Their excitement was short-lived, however, as the screen displayed a message that chilled them to their cores: "to continue, please prove you are a human."

[marlynnofmany]

It’s back!

If you missed it the first time around, the “human are weird” anthology is back for a second printing. (There’s even a new story included: “Black Box” by Dara Brophy.)

Here’s the blurb:

In science fiction, humans are usually boring compared to other races: small, weak, with no claws or tentacles, and no special abilities to speak of. But what if we were the impressive ones, the unsettling ones, the ones talked about by all the other aliens? What if we're weird?

If you’d like a collection of excellent stories about humans inspiring awe, fear, and utter confusion, it’s available everywhere books are sold!

[technoarcanist]

WAR NEVER CHANGES. BUT,

WARFARE NEVER STOPS CHANGING

"I've seen countless reasons why most mech pilots don't make the cut, but one of the largest hurdles are the physical alterations. The implants and modifications done to the fleshware is so extreme that it's enough to push most would-be pilots away from day 1.

Back in the day, when mech tech was still in its wild west years, when the technology was still in its infancy, things were different. Levers, joysticks, switches, a chair, most of the first models were something between the cockpit of a construction vehicle and a fighter ship.

Pilots in those days still consisted largely of the usual suspects. Test pilots, army jocks, space force veterans looking for something new, the occasional crazy who lucked their way up the ranks. All you needed back then was to be fit enough to work complex machinery. 'Handler's wouldn't be a coined phrase for nearly a decade. I still remember being a kid and seeing repurposed older models in the mech fighting streams.

Everything changed with the Bidirectional Cerebellum Computer Interface. To say nothing of how it changed civilian life, it was a military marvel. The BiCCI saw the creation of Mechs as we understand them today. The first generation were just retrofits, older models with a pilot's chair, and even manual controls to use in an emergency, but even then we knew that was only temporary. Before long, sleek frames of sharp angles, railguns and plasma cannons were rolling off the factory floor.

Like many things, it began small, optimising first for cockpit space by removing the manual controls. Before long, my then-supervisors thought, "Why have this glass? Why not hook the pilot's eyesight right into the advanced multi-spectral camera system? Before long, cockpits were but soft harnesses made to house a living body, their very soul wired into the machinery. Obviously, for security reasons, I cannot tell you everything about how our latest cockpits work, but suffice to say we've been further blurring the line between pilot and frame ever since.

This drew a very different crowd. Out were the army jocks and powerlifters. The only ones who even dared to have the interface hardware installed into their brainstem and spinal cord were the dispossessed, the misanthropes, those who sought not to control their new body, but to be controlled by it. No AI can work a mech properly on its own, but our pilots are never really in full control either anymore. Those who do try to go against the symbiosis get a nosebleed at best, and vegetative seizures at worst.

And that was that. The only people left who pilots these things are those who had already been broken, those who sougt a permenant reprive from being anything resembling human. A lot of my department quit around this time. I've lost a few friends over it, I'm not shy to say. Did we knew we'd be bringing in the more vulnerable people? Of course we did. But, the wheels of progress must turn, as they say, and it wasn't like we were shy of volunteers.

In our latest models, we have refined an even more advanced frame. Again, security detail prevents me from divulging too much, but one breakthrough we've made is decreasing action latency by approximately 0.02s by amputating the limbs from our pilots and replacing them with neural interface pads.

Using the pads where the limbs once were, pilots are screwed directly into the cockpit, which itself can now be 30% smaller thanks to the saved space. And, of course, we provide basic humanoid cybernetics as part of their employment contract while they are with us. Not that most of them are ever voluntarily out of their cockpits long enough to make use of them. Even removing the tubes from their orifices for routine cleaning incurs a large level of resistence.

And, yes, some of them scream, some of them break, some become so catatonic that they might as well be a peripheral processor for their mech's AI. But not a single one, not even one pilot, in all the dolls i've ever trained, have ever accepted the holidays we offer, the retirement packages, the stipends.

As you say, there are those who like to call me a monster for my work. I can see why. After all, they don't see the way my pilots' crotches dribble when I tell them I'll be cutting away their limbs, or the little moans they try to hide when we first meet and I explain that they'd forever be on the same resource level as a machine hereafter.

Those who call me a monster don't realise that, even after going public with how we operate our pilots, even after ramping up mech frame production, we still have more than twice as many volunteers as frames.

Those who call me a monster cannot accept that my pilots are far happier as a piece of meat in a machine of death than as the shell of a human they once were.

Those who call me a monster never consider the world my pilots grew up in to make them suitable candidates in the first place."

-Dr Francine Heathwich EngD

Dept. Cybernetic Technologies @ Dynaframe Industries

[In response to human rights violations accusations levied by the Pilot Rehabilitation Foundation]

[injuries-in-dust]

Captain’s log, number 197.

Well, it finally happened. They warned me it would when I took humans aboard, but I didn’t believe them.

The humans have threatened mutiny over an object they have pack-bonded with.

A few cycles ago, one of the humans placed ... decorative items ... what are they called? “googling eyes?” upon one of the maintanence drones. While against procedure, this seemed to be amusing to the humans and I let them have this bit of enrichment to their environment.

Last cycle another human, or perhaps the same one, I haven’t been able to get a clear answer on who did it, decided to expand upon this decoration with the addition of black bonding tape, cut into shapes the humans find very amusing.

See attached picture for clarity:

In another cycle we will be docking at space-station 114-Hartnell for our annual maintanence and reguation-compliance inspection. I need not say how we must be reguation compliant in order to maintain our trade lisence with the alliance.

This would, of course, include that all maintanence drones are kept up to code. So I ordered the humans to remove the decorations.

... I ...

...I have no words ...

Their reaction.

They named him.

It! I meant to say, they named it.

They stated, and I quote, “You will not touch one hair of Robert Floor-Buffington the third, captain, or there’ll be a problem!” 

They’ve made up stories! Robert Floor-Buffington, he’s a humble, but hard working space bot, who just wants to do right for his a robot wife, and robot children!

It’s a maintanence drone! Identical to the hundred other maintanence drones we have on board.

But the humans they’re insane!

They just will not be moved on this issue.

... Maybe I can pursuade them to just ensure this Robert Floor-Buffington is kept out of the inspectors way. We have a hundred identical models, surely they won’t notice that one is missing?

***Log paused for incoming message***

Captains log addendum.

Perhaps the inspectors will not notice four maintanence drones are missing.

The humans have decided to decorate three other drones and have taken to referring to them as the “wife and two children of Robert-Floor Buffington the third.”

At this time, there is a heated debate occuring in storage bay three over what the names of this robot family will be.

...

...

...

Additional. I have over two-hundred days of shore-leave accrued. I think I’ll be making good use of that in the near future.

[fae-papercuts]

Originally inspired as a response to some posts by @banrionceallach and @marlynnofmany. Polished it up and decided it would make a good start to my lil story blog. Enjoy!

Not Our Usual Passengers

“What do you mean, there’s something wrong with the engines?” Captain El'ek'tak said incredulously. “You’re not an engineer, none of you humans are. You’re not even crew, you’re passengers! How dare you claim there’s something wrong with my vessel!?”

The outraged captain puffed up her air sacks, the feathery amphibian inflating as she stared down the trio of humans who had been travelling with them for the past week. They were not what she had come to expect when transporting humans, not one bit.

They were quiet, for a start. One of them didn’t even speak at all, just made an occasional tuneless humming sound when they were concentrating particularly hard on something. That was usually accompanied by a rocking back and forth that seemed remarkably similar to the Ke'tek autonomic stimulation ritual of focus.

Humans weren’t supposed to do that, were they?

The second of the human party cleared their throat softly - something they always did before speaking, which was quite a rare occurrence. The captain appreciated this, actually. So many humans she had transported interrupted her, or spoke over each other. The disrespect was really quite remarkable - but these humans waited patiently for others to finish, and this particular human’s throat-clearing was used similarly to the way El'ek'tak’s own species rustled their dorsal feathers to indicate their intent to communicate.

“Captain, apologies if we caused any offence,” at this the non-speaking human’s eyes widened in surprise, and they shook their head, clearly agreeing in a profoundly apologetic manner, without words. Their apologetic companion went on, “We can’t be certain there’s something wrong with the ship, we just thought you should know that it sounds wrong.”

The first human spoke again, nodding as they added to their companion’s statement.

“Yes, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to assert certainty when I should have stated a suspicion,” they gave a short smile, then their face quickly fell back into a neutral expression. The captain was a little taken aback by this, as that particular human seemed to very rarely express facially - quite the opposite to what she was used to with humans. It was a little disconcerting, but mostly because she had put a lot of effort into learning about human non-verbal communication.

She blinked, and stared at the three for a long moment. “It sounds wrong?” she repeated back, surprised. She had heard of some particularly sensitive species being able to diagnose certain engine issues from the vibrational frequencies, but usually this required extremely highly trained specialists.

The silent human nodded, and raised a handheld device, tapping something onto its screen for a few moments. The other two humans turned and waited patiently as their friend worked, and the Captain watched with a raised eyebrow (this wasn’t a natural Girurian expression. She had learnt it from her human studies, enjoyed how it felt, and how it could communicate so many things at once).

The human held up the device, and it emitted a gentle, slightly robotic tone, “Engine pitch changed one point five hours ago. Rising quarter octave every seven minutes. Hurt very bad fifty five minutes ago.”

Captain El'ek'tak stared for a moment at the human, her feathers rustling vaguely, as she tried to figure out a response. She looked between all three of them. “You can hear the engines, from your quarters half way across the ship?” she asked incredulously.

The most vocal of the humans spoke, while the throat-clearer nodded and the non-verbal one tapped on their device. “Oh yes,” they said, “we’re all sensitive to sensory input, at least for humans. Not a patch on Alirians sound sensitivity, or Hynoids electromagnetic spectral range, or the scent capabilities of the Teraxids - did you know they can smell a single smoke particulate in a standard atmospheric volume of 500 cubic metres?”

The human with the device gently put a hand on the speaker’s shoulder and smiled softly at their friend - who turned bright red and looked at the floor. “Sorry, xenobiological sensory discrepancies is my special interest right now,” they said, before taking a slight step back. It was at this point that the captain noticed that they were fiddling with a strange cube in their left hand, suddenly speeding up how they manipulated the piece of plastic, changing its configuration rapidly. It was a fascinating display of manual dexterity, and considered asking about it for a moment.

“Engine makes the whole ship vibrate. Can hear it any place,” spoke the little device, for it’s human, interrupting the captain's curiosity. The human’s head rose, making eye contact with El'ek'tak. The human’s gaze was intense - more so than even the other humans the captain had encountered. Eye contact was so rarely a positive thing, across a wide variety of species, but with humans she had met so far it had always been considered important. So the captain had learned to look them in the eyes. It had been a surprise when this group avoided it so much, rarely meeting her gaze for more than a split second. Early in the voyage, they had politely explained that all of them found it hard, and that they hoped she wouldn’t take offence. Frankly, El'ek'tak had been a little relieved, as all the eye contact with others of the odd little species had been quite exhausting.

But right now, the diminutive human who never spoke and could apparently tell when engines changed pitch, was looking into her eyes, and the Captain could practically feel this little traveller’s distress. It made her ankle feathers itch, and she was surprised to find herself understanding quite so much from just a look.

The captain nodded, and broke eye contact. The human looked down again, reverting back to their usual slightly-bowed stance.

“Let me check with engineering,” she said, and turned to the panel by her side, tapping a screen to raise the engine-room. Slipping comfortably into her own language, she greeted the pair of engineering crew on duty, and asked them about the state of the engines, particularly frequency or oscillation-related issues. She gave them the time to check on it, waiting silently, still as a statue, while the humans figeted, or rocked gently side to side. Their motion made her a little uncomfortable, but she had learnt that with these three, continuous movement wasn’t a sign of impatience, as it has been for many previous human passengers.

After a few minutes, the engineers returned to the screen, and exchanged a few explanatory sentences with the Captain, before tapping fingers to their foreheads respectfully. The Captain returned the gesture, and ended the call.

El'ek'tak turned back to the humans, to see that the non-verbal one was already tapping on their device. She couldn’t help but rustle her feathers, wanting to reassure the humans, but not wanting to interrupt this overt preparation for communication. The throat-clearing human raised a finger briefly, a clear request for a moment of time, and the Captain found herself surprised again at how wide a variety of perception these humans could contain within a single species.

“Pitch dropping rapidly. Expect normal range in four minutes. Thank you, captain,” said the device, as the human beamed a broad smile at her for just a brief moment.

El'ek'tak’s feathers rustled briskly, and then she replied. “Yes, that’s alright, thank you for bringing it to our attention,” she said, pausing to gather her wits. “The interphasic array had become slightly misaligned. It wouldn’t have been detected by our sensors for another hour, and then we would have had to pause the engines to manually readjust it. Catching it this early, we could simply vary the input parameters to re-compensate, and bring it back into synchronisation,” she explained, relaying the gratitude of her engineering crew.

The most vocal human flapped their hands back and forth vigorously, grinning with delight. “Oh, thank goodness, I’m so glad we could help, and that the engine noise will at least be consistent. We were worried it would be horrible for the whole trip, and we’d have to reconfigure our ear protection all the time! Genuinely helping out the engineers is so great!”

The captain’s eyes bulged with happiness, quite unable to resist the infectious joy of the gleeful human. “I am glad your trip will be more comfortable, and I will pass on how helpful you were to Central, once we reach our destination.”

The throat-clearing human, who had so consistently noticed the captain’s non-verbal communication, smiled too. They actually chuckled a little as they said, “More neurodiversity stuff to go in The Guide To Interstellar Travel With Humans,” seeming pleasantly amused.

El'ek'tak winced in embarrassment. She had already sent in three amendments to the guide regarding natural variations in human cognitive capabilities and behavioural norms since they had left Alpha Centauri, the two weeks of travel offering surprise after surprise from these passengers. But as far as she knew, the guide wasn’t acknowledged by humans - she didn’t even know the species was aware of the now rather sizeable volume of collected knowledge. It certainly wasn’t available in any human languages that she knew of - after all, what would be the point?

The human’s chuckle became gentler, and the other vocal one of the group raised a hand in an extremely close mimic of the Girurian comforting gesture - as close as could be with the wrong number of digits, anyway. The Captain couldn’t help but relax, the effort the human put into the gesture only adding to the positive impact. They flashed another brief smile as their companion explained, “Don’t worry captain. Most of us don’t bother with it, but I find it fascinating. It has been wonderful seeing the updates since our trip began. Please, the more human neurodivergency is documented, the easier space travel can be for people like us.”

There were a few more polite exchanges, during which the captain learned  that the strange device she had notice was an 'infinity cube,' which was apparently a kind of 'fidget toy.' Then the humans left her ready room; a quiet, somewhat surreal collection of beings who had rather put a lie to the notion that humans were uniformly capable of being brash and difficult to deal with.

But they certainly didn’t do anything to diminish the captain’s view of humanity as a species eternally full of surprises.

[welcometogrouchland]

I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry

[frickityfrackityfuckingshit]

Listen I LOVE the humans are space orcs thing, but imagine.

Humans are space crabs.

Like sure, there’s some really different looking aliens out there, with different ways of communicating and reproducing and stuff. But like. Being a human is just generally a good way to become the intelligent species on a planet. There are just human-like things everywhere.

“Our ship has 3 humans and 5 kraleex” Hendt reminded the human, Jane.

“What? No the ship has 2 humans, 2 splaids, 3 kraleex, and a loktad.”

“Agh, you all seem to tell each other apart but you look the same to me.”

“Kristopher is literally ORANGE AND 7 FEET TALL.”

“You’re beige. And Lance is uhhh.” He paused as he rooted around for the human sweet in his head. “Caramel. That’s practically orange.”

“Seriously humanity had some fucked up shit going on, you’ll probably offend Kristopher if you call him a human to his face.”

“Didn’t you convergently evolve?”

Jane sighed.

“Yeah but like- humans are pretty naturally aggressive. Loktads are quite peaceful, that’s why they took so much less time than us to advance. He’ll see it as an insult.”

Handt shifted uncomfortably.

“Humans are very useful in difficult situations. Despite your size and lacking in physical strength many of you have great problem solving skills. Your roots are nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah because compared to other pentadactyly we were very distrustful of our own species and formed smaller groups. We had to be stronger as individuals.” Jane was starting to get a bit frustrated about giving this history lesson. Handt should have been given a briefing on human-like species, but the Strokt were know for their ability to pick up on skills, not knowledge.

Thankfully, they nodded slowly.

“I will refrain from calling Kristopher a human. I can see how this may hurt him.”

Jane let out a breathe of relief when he retreated. She couldn’t even remember the original argument. But at least Handt would now be less likely to offend one of their crew mates.

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Liz, Biotechnician

Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I still can’t get this stupid arm to work right,” Liz groaned. She’d managed to get to the lab on time today, and she’d been able to get dressed herself, but only barely. Her lab coat and uniform were both disheveled, the new bionic hand unable to get every button resulting in half of them being left undone. She’d ended up having to tie her shoe laces in knots to keep them on her feet because her fingers couldn’t bend the way she wanted or grip the thin laces. The only reason Liz was wearing the lab coat these days was to hide the cross section where her arm ended and the cybernetics began. Looking at it was… upsetting, to say the least.

“It’s only been a few cycles, Human Liz,” Coco said. “It’s my understanding that losing limbs is fatal to most other species of non-botanicals. Having the ability to complain right now is a gift.”

“It’s been over a week,” Liz said. “And I know, everyone keeps reminding me I’m lucky to be alive, you, the captain, Jane, I know how lucky I am, but this,” she waved the hunk of metal she called a hand, “is starting to piss me off.”

“You are upset,” Coco said. They were standing beside the center lab table. Liz couldn’t even see the claw marks the predator creature had left on their trunk anymore. “This is to be expected.”

Coco walked over to their wall computer, avoiding the small automated cleaner Liz had made to tidy up the dirt they tracked everywhere.

“Remind me again, this device you have made to remove the dirt, why have you attached a weapon to it?” Coco asked.

“Thought it’d be funny,” Liz said, “which it was.”

“And you have designated it…?”

“Stabby, ‘cause of the steak knife.”

“Why?”

“Old Earth legend. Makes us humans laugh,” Liz said, smiling as she leaned her chin on her good arm.

“You will have to explain that story to me again some time.” Coco clicked a button on their screen and a wall panel slid up between them, revealing the clutch of 5 eggs they’d taken from MX13 sitting in their tank. They were about the size of baseballs, or stone fruits. Liz had stuck a strip of electrical tape on the front and written ‘arm eating bastard eggs’.

“You know I’m half tempted to eat them,” Liz said.

“Please do not engage in predator behavior around me,” Coco asked. “It still makes me nervous sometimes watching you try to swat at insects.”

“Really? Why?” Liz chuckled.

“I know you are more evolved than a simple animal, but when I observe you stalk and hunt down the… mosquitoes? It reminds me of the predators we have on Spryga. It is unsettling.”

Liz stopped and thought for a moment. She hadn’t considered that before. It was probably a normal complaint among former prey species working alongside humans. Whoops.

“Well, sorry. Humans are weird like that, but I’ll try to be more conscious about it,” Liz said.

“Thank you. I do not mean to… step on your hands, but I appreciate it.”

“Step on your toes, hon.”

“Right.”

Liz pulled the tank out of the wall while Coco set the lab up, turning on heat lamps and setting the environmental controls in the room to MX13 standard, except for the air. Upon further analysis of the predator creature from the moon, it didn’t need the methane in the air to breathe. From what was left of its ‘lungs’, they breathed more like frogs, through their skin, stripping oxygen from out of the water they swam in. Apparently they were more reptilian than Liz had expected. There were underground rivers and lakes all across the subsurface of the moon, hunting grounds for the creatures. Liz guessed they came above ground to lay their eggs, away from the competition.

Furry reptiles, Liz thought. Why the hair though? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe to keep warm? The underground water has to be freezing.

“What do you think the GAIL will want to do with them after… if they hatch?” Liz asked.

“Standard procedure would be to return them to their natural habitat after a nano scrub to remove any and all unnatural scent from their bodies, so they can be reaccepted back into their species later,” Coco explained. “But hatchlings would be another question entirely. Perhaps they would be sent to an outpost for further study, or released into a controlled habitat somewhere.”

“What, like a zoo?” Liz asked. “You have zoos in the GAIL?”

“Possibly, I’m not sure what this zoo is.”

“We had them on Earth a long ways back. It was pitched as a way to study animals up close, but it was really just cheap entertainment for the masses. Eventually it kinda grew into a way to help endangered species, but it was still pretty on the line.”

“Then no, we don’t have zoos. What I’m speaking of are rehabilitated planets or moons with an ecosystem created to cater to the needs of the species we simply can’t put back where they are from.”

“That still kinda sounds like a zoo, but I guess if nobody is throwing peanuts at the elephants it’s still an improvement.”

The lab was set up for observation, the eggs were supposedly viable, so while they waited to see what would happen, the two got back to their other work. Reasonably they could’ve just left the eggs in the temperature controlled wall slot, but Liz had said that’d be boring, considering it was ‘the most she’d ever paid for less than a full carton of eggs.’

Coco stepped into their pot and watched the eggs, Liz in her desk chair tinkering with her new arm. She was sure if she could just get the pathways right, she’d be able to get the thing working properly. The cable running from her arm to her computer was annoyingly equated to a leash in her mind.

If I could just open a can of soda by myself, that’d be a huge win.

As they sat there doing important scientific work, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Coco said, unmoving in their corner. The door opened and, oddly enough, another human walked in. He stood just inside the doorway looking around sheepishly. Liz glanced at him and was surprised to see a maintenance droid sitting on his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you guys, uhh, I’m Thomas, from engineering,” said the man.

“Well, hi, I guess,” Liz said, a little confused. “What are you doing all the way up here Thomas? We didn’t make any maintenance requests.”

“No, you didn’t, but I think you need one anyway,” Thomas said. “See, I was just in the med bay for the last couple cycles, and I overheard the nurses talking about the human who needed a cybernetic arm. I’m assuming that was you and not one of the other two, right?”

“What gave it away?” Liz said dryly, waving her metal hand. “And what are you doing, asking about me anyway? You want to see the robot arm or something, get an upgrade for your little buddy there?”

“Oh, no no no, I’m sorry, I just figured you’d need the fix for it,” Thomas said. He walked further into the room, albeit cautiously. “I asked about the model arm they gave you, the MK6, and there’s a small chance the one you have has a problem.”

“… huh?” Liz said, actually confused now.

“Yeah, the MK6 is a great design, but the company putting out the arms had a faulty inspection system, a couple hundred came off the line with a bug in the wiring.”

“I’ve ran a dozen tests on this thing, I would’ve found any code defect.”

“No, I mean, an actual insect, little crawly thing, in the arm. The factory where they were made had a pest problem so they were fumigating for a while. The whole plant is totally automated, so they didn’t stop production while they did it. Bugs went everywhere trying to escape, and some went into the product to avoid the pesticides. Prosthetics got sealed up, and so did the bugs. It’s probably gunked up the wiring in your arm, that’s why you can’t… you know,” Thomas explained, gesturing to her uniform.

“There… there’s a bug in my fucking arm?” Liz said, disgusted.

“I’m just saying there might be,” Thomas said, hands up like he was going to defend himself.

“Beep.”

“Yeah, I know buddy, but we gotta get permission first.”

“Did the small drone speak?” Coco asked.

“Oh my god you’re a Sprygan!” Thomas said, surprised. “I’m so sorry, I thought you were just a houseplant.”

“It’s no problem, I am not offended,” Coco said.

“Uhh, yeah, his name is Roomba, he asked why we don’t just fix the arm and go. We’re still learning patience and manners, apparently.”

“Beep.”

“Apology accepted. Thank you Roomba.”

“Can somebody just check my arm for bugs now please, before I throw up?” Liz half squealed, panicking. She could charge a hostile alien creature no problem, but the thought of insects touching her was enough to make her stomach churn.

“Yup, right, okay, gimme a sec,” Thomas said, coming into the room fully now. “Roll your sleeve up, I gotta remove the casing for this.”

Liz rolled the sleeve of her lab coat up past her elbow, grimacing as she caught sight of the connection plate set into the bone. The skin around it was still red and scarring.

Thomas pulled a small set of tools out of his back pocket and got to work. With a thin pick, he popped the forearm plate up, exposing the circuits running the length of the device, what Liz had in place of muscle tissue now. He took a small pair of needle nose pliers and started poking around, gently moving aside some wires here, around a bolt there. Liz turned her head away. As fascinating as the mechanism was, the idea of seeing an insect inside her body was going to make her sick.

“Okay, talk, bot boy, how come you knew about the defects?” Liz demanded. “I need stimuli to keep from thinking about this revolting situation, so talk.”

“I, uhh, wrote a paper at the academy, about how designers only see solutions to what they think could be the problem,” Thomas said, moving up her forearm. “A lot of people don’t realize they’re smarter than they give themselves credit for, especially actually smart people. Knowing what could go wrong, they start to doubt themselves, and when things do break, they wrack their brains over all the little things they think they did wrong. So I wrote a paper about all the other things that could go bad… like this little guy right here.”

Thomas clamped onto something and slowly fished it out of the device. Liz turned her head even further away, but it didn’t matter. Coco, ever present, and blunt as always, described it to her.

“It appears quite dead. Human Liz, you seem to have had a beetle of some kind in your prosthetic limb,” they said.

“Hon, I love you, but please don’t tell me the details,” Liz said, covering her mouth with her good hand.

“The lady who designed the MK6 is a certified genius, so I used her factory in my thesis paper. After they started getting complaints about some of their prosthetics, they ran every test they could think of, even rewrote the software a few times. It wasn’t until a no name engineer opened one up that they found the problem. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, it’s just a difference between working software and working hardware.”

“And you wrote an engineering thesis paper on that?” Liz asked, dry heaving ever so slightly.

“No, I wrote my psychology paper on that. I wrote my engineering paper on a new WARP drive design I made up.” Thomas threw the dead insect in the trash. “Bigger brains just see bigger problems. Takes a… well, not dumber person, just maybe a different kind of person to see the small problems.”

“Clearly. Anyone with two degrees isn’t what I’d call dumb either,” Liz said, turning her head back.

Thomas used a little brush to clean up the arm a little, squeezing a small tube of sanitizing gel into the empty space between wires.

“Roomba, sterilize this for me, would you?”

The little drone carefully climbed down from his shoulder and dropped onto the table. It held its little hand up as one of its finger tips ignited, making a small controlled torch. Liz held her arm out, looking concerned. The little droid ran its finger over the affected area and after a moment, the little flame went out.

“Beep.”

“Good job buddy. He said it’s totally clean now, 100% sterilized,” Thomas said.

“Oh thank god,” Liz breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks little guy, I owe you one.”

“Beep.”

“He said you’re welcome,” Thomas translated, handing the small droid a data pad. The pad wirred and trilled, and Liz realized the droid was playing a video game.

Odd little fella, huh, she thought.

“You should be able to get the arm working by the end of the day now. It’s had plenty of time to adjust to your neural pathways, it just couldn’t execute any functions till the block was removed. It’ll work just like your old one now,” Thomas said, putting the little tool kit back in his pocket.

“Guess I should say thanks for that,” Liz said, rolling her sleeve back down. “So… thanks. I owe you one too. Any of you guys down in maintenance need a hand, I’ve got a shiny new one to offer.”

“Human Thomas,” Coco chimed in, “thank you for fixing my friend. Your service has been greatly appreciated.”

“You’re very welcome,” Thomas smiled at them, “both of you. I better get back down to the maintenance deck though, we’re still repairing the core room from that flare the other cycle.” Thomas turned to leave, and was almost at the door when Liz called after him.

“Hey, hardware!”

He stopped in the doorway.

“Weird thing to call me, but I can dig it. Yeah?”

“How many degrees do you have?” Liz asked.

“Four, why?” He said.

“Know anything about eggs?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas left after a while, saying he’d be back to help build a better inclosure for the hatchlings. Apparently he’d kept bearded dragons as pets when he was a kid, so he knew at least a little about ‘lizards’.

Liz opened a desk drawer and dug out a stress ball, something Doctor Shaw had given her for rehab, and tried to squeeze it. Amazingly, her metal fingers actually curled and the ball morphed out of shape.

“Finally!” She said. “Coco, look! I can squeeze the ball!”

“That is wonderful, Human Liz,” Coco said, the lit photo bar in their branches feeding them synthetic star light. “The human capacity to overcome body altering trauma is fascinating. In my research of non-botanical life, this is very clearly an exception. Other lifeforms would simply perish from such catastrophic damage.”

“Wait until you hear our bones grow back stronger after they break,” Liz said, laughing.

“They do what?” Coco asked, a note of alarm making its way into their voice synthesizer. Liz cackled, throwing her head back and everything. She felt better than she’d had in days, like whatever funk she’d been in was starting to disappear. She suggested they discuss human bone structure while they go get something to eat, saying Coco could gorge themselves on chocolate while she got a sandwich or something.

The mess hall was lively, and various species meant various different cultures and cuisine, so it always smelt different every few minutes or so. They sat and discussed cellular structures, bone density, and the like, how calcium deposits support bone regeneration for a while, making the broken area stronger than ever, for a time at least. Coco was simultaneously fascinated and terrified. They had no idea non-botanical lifeforms were so resilient in the Terran System.

After some time, and a second sandwich, they made their way back to the lab. They’d just stepped off the lift and were a few feet from the door when Liz heard it.

…scchhtt scchtt sschht…

Something was scratching at the door, low to the floor. Something small.

“Coco wait a minute,” Liz said softly, holding out her good arm in front of the Sprygan.

The door opened… and there was a baby arm eating bastard sitting there, looking up at her. The thing looked almost like a big kitten, except for the gator snout and reptilian limbs. Its body was covered in patchy fur, almost like a baby seal. It looked up at the two of them and chirped like a cat before waddling over, sat on Liz’s foot, and began gnawing on her laces.

“Holy shit,” Liz said. “It’s so ugly I love it.”

“I will go call Human Thomas,” Coco said, “we will need the new enclosure now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Thomas arrived, the scientists had found two more Armeaters. “Yeah, one word, that’s what I’m calling them,” Liz had said when asked. One had been crawling around in Coco’s plant pot, and the other was sniffling around under the desks. As for the other two eggs, it seemed the three had…

“You mean they ate the other eggs?” Thomas asked, mildly horrified.

“Yeah, we checked the recordings. They sat looking at the eggs for a bit before they, uhh, kinda just crushed the eggs and ate them scrambled,” Liz explained. She was sitting in her desk chair, covered in Armeaters. Coco didn’t put out any body heat, so the little buggers had decided Liz’s lab coat and uniform were the optimal place to get warmth. It was actually pretty cute, in a weird sort of way, as they were all three purring in a guttural manner.

Thomas rigged the big tank the eggs had been in with a little 3D printed ‘rock’ cave, with some spare dirt the Sprygans had on board. The engineer worked hard to make the enclosure as close to the environment on MX13 as possible. By the time he was finished, they even had a little ‘pool’ made out of a file tub they weren’t using.

The problems started when the humans tried to put the creatures in the tank. They didn’t go for it. The moment Liz tried to set them down, they started whining, making this pew sound, much like baby alligators.

“I do not understand,” Coco said. “Why are they doing this? There is food and water in the enclosure, as well as a heating rock to keep them at the optimal temperature.”

“They probably imprinted on Liz when you walked in,” Thomas said. “Lots of creatures think the first thing they see after they’re born is their parent.”

“That sounds… confusing,” Coco said. “On Spryga, we either sprout from the ground near our progenitor, or we are sometimes an offshoot of them when branches or limbs break off and take root on their own.”

“This is just great,” Liz said sarcastically. “Gonna have to get a blow up bed or something, sleep in the lab now. We’re having a slumber party Coco, sorry, but apparently the kids need me.”

“Beep.”

“Because they’re newborns Roomba, they don’t know any better- OW SHIT!”

Thomas looked around, then started laughing uncontrollably. The auto-cleaning device had started its rounds, cleaning up eggshell and dirt. It had nicked his ankle with its knife.

“THERES A ROOMBA WITH A KNIFE!” He howled. “This is amazing! Why didn’t I think of that?”

He looked directly at Liz, more serious than either of the two scientists had seen so far.

“Do you think Roomba can ride the roomba? Can one of the little guys ride with them too?” He asked, so seriously.

“You humans are starting to concern me,” Coco said. “I’m getting more chocolate.”

“Can you grab me a drink too hon? These little guys are sleeping and I don’t want to wake them.” Liz was petting the little creatures when she noticed she was using her prosthetic arm. She hadn’t even noticed, it felt so seamless. She curled the fingers and scratched gently behind one of their ears.

About time, she thought. The funk was over. The new normal wouldn’t be that bad it seemed. She looked at the engineer.

“Thomas, if it’s the last thing I do on this ship, they’re riding the roomba.”

[kintsug1kitsune]

the pilot and the doll

"They took my fucking body! My body--" The pilot broke down, choking out a sob.

The combat doll stared with its many glassy eyes, tilting its head and softly chittering. "Your mech."

"Yes! Yes, my-- my mech, my body..." They knocked back their whiskey as if it could save them. "They said I can't pilot anymore, and..."

"Do you miss it?" the doll chirped.

The former pilot hissed. "I was alive in it, it was me, it felt like I was finally me. Especially in battle--I was myself, I was free." They looked at the doll half-drunk and with hollow hunger.

It was a stare the doll could return. "The truth of metal. The hum and hiss of mechanics. The force of artillery fire, and the grace of a weapon."

They stared at it a bit, sideways. "...Yeah, that's it. You get it."

"Because this one is that," it replied. "It is that all the time. Without a mech."

"That... must be nice. To just be that, be... yourself. All the time." The whiskey glass, empty, was considered for a long moment.

The doll waited for a time. And then spoke. "You could be."

"Huh?" They were shocked for a second, looking up abruptly.

"You could be like this one."

Their shaking head; disbelief. "No, no, I couldn't. No witch would take me."

"You are like this one," it said, and gently went to rest its head on the ex-pilot's shoulder. "And its Master would take you."

They didn't budge it, but... relaxed, a bit. A tear in their eye. "For real...?"

"Come with this one," it said, looking them in the eye, all five of its focusing on their pair. "Become."

There was a long pause, and a shaky breath.

"Alright."

[whereserpentswalk]

Every starship always has a few ice people on board. It's just standard safety protocol. The minimum number is three, one ice person for defense, one ice person for repairs, and one ice person for medical.

Ice people are people who are put into suspended animation for the duration of a trip, only to be taken out in emergencies. They're useful because a ship won't have to deal with another passenger just for something that won't useally happen. It also makes it so that the ice person is the least likely to be harmed in emergencies. They used to use robots for these sorts of things but now that the robots have unionized biological life is cheaper for that kind of labor.

It's a pretty nice job. Nine times out of ten it's falling asleep and waking up a few months later. Doing it once or twice can pay off your college debts pretty quickly. Compared to the other jobs you'll get with that kind of skillset it's a pretty good deal. Most medical students are encouraged to take it as their first job to pay off their student loans.

Of course, there is a weirdness to it, not existing for such a long time. Even a few months will make the way things change weird. You'll come back to your home planet and things will be diffrent. A freind will have gotten married. A child that you're used to being a baby will be a toddler. Someone will have moved away. It's not all bad, hype for movies or video games, arguments that need time to calm down, skipping out on a bad time in politics. But still, it always makes you a bit separate from everything else.

Of course, there is always the fear suspended animation won't work as intended, and your mind will be trapped dreaming, or worse, conscious, during the entire affair. Perhaps things will that lurk in hyperspace will begin to speak to you. Or worse you'll just be alone, with nothing but your thoughts, and no way to cry out.

But that's not the worst of it, at least not for most people. For most people it's the much more mundane reality of needing to be an ice person for more than just one or two trips. You'll fall asleep and wake up months later, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred times. And you'll find yourself only seeing the world through snapshots, really only having your other ice people to relate to. You'll be from a diffrent time as everyone the same age as you. It's better pay then any alternative, but there is a greater cost. Soon enough you'll be walking through your homeworld and it'll be alien to you, decades in the future from what you were raised to be in, you'll be wearing a diffrent eras clothing, speaking in a dead dialect, like a ghost from the past.

There was a young engineer who recently returned from being an ice person. Poor thing, she was sent out on an ambassador ship to an alien system thinking it would be about six months, but it turned out she was gone for decades as a war between that ship's nation and the alien homeworld broke out. When she came back all three of her spouses had died of old age, and her son who was an infant when she left was older than her when she returned, and her grandchildren she had never met were her peers.

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] It takes a village

Date: 68 PST (Post Stasis Time)

"It takes a village to raise a child" - Terran Proverb, unknown origin.

It was supposed to have been his species next step forwards: "Mountain stream". A first colony outside of their home home planet, the start of a new raging river into the universe. The hopes and dreams of every Zorthian packed onto a single ship and pushed into the starry skies. The seeds sent out had sprouted into a beautiful set of cities and towns over ten peaceful years. Ten long years. Ten tenacious years.

Ten useless years, as it was all for nothing. Every monument, every building, every triumph and every memory would be reduced to nothingness: every single one of them was going to die.

The cities of glass were no more. The orange sun of this planet no longer shimmered between the towers that had spiralled high into the air. The Zorthian's tribute to a new world no longer bathed in an eternal sunset: any structure over 3 stories tall had long since collapsed into tiny shards of glass.

The artificial rivers that sprawled along the surface were no longer filled with Zorthian's living their lives. No more children played in pools, no more lovers swam tail to tail under the dual moonlit sky. Anyone left at this point would be sheltering in whatever structures that still remained: in basements and emergency shelters, surrounded by their families, simply waiting for the end.

Apart from one. In one of the few buildings still standing Fluur lay on the floor. He, like all of his species, could be described as a large 4ft long salamander with translucent blue skin, interspersed with vibrant red gills and fins.

The room was a mess: water pooled along the expertly crafted glass floors. Shelves, desks and half the ceiling lay scattered in piles of debris among what had once been a beautiful building.

Everything was shrouded in darkness, the dual moons only providing a small amount of light through the opaque glass sides of the building he was in. Fluur's only real source of light was the few blinking LED's of the one machine still online, leaving the Zorthian alone with nothing but the dread of his thoughts.

Well, alone with nothing but the dread of his thoughts and the copious amounts of intoxicants floating in the water around him, the bottles of mind altering substances he was drinking heavily from gave some solace as he lay there. Luckily the room was still flooded with 2ft of water, as intended, allowing Fluur to lie half submerged in the water while he tried to get the most drunk that any Zorthian had ever gotten. Half sitting half floating in the darkness, drinking heavily while he waited to die.

The world began to shake again, another earthquake hitting the building and forcing Fluur to hold onto anything still bolted down. Waiting the 20 seconds for the world to stop shaking and spinning, the sound of something presumably expensive breaking in another room. Eventually it stopped, letting the Zorthian to resume his through the building's translucent glass walls, at the at the moonlit skyline of the destroyed city he called home.

Fluur took another swig of the drink, enjoying the numbing agents running through his body. That had been the longest one yet, not that the quakes were going to get better any time soon. It turns out that there was a reason this planet was uninhabited, even though it was in such a prime position in the galaxy.

A strange combination of elements all mixing together in a way that the Zorthian scientists could barely understand, meant this planet was literally a timebomb; it would eventually shake itself apart, leaving nothing but an asteroid belt. The realization of what was causing the increasing quakes had only been figured out a week ago and based on the calculated timescale they barely had a day at most left.

Fluur finished the bottle he was holding, reaching for another. He should be at home right now spending his last moments with his family; with his siblings and his parents. But someone needed to stay behind. Because the single working machine to his right was the planets interstellar communicator.

Not that realistically anyone would be coming. Sure they had send out a distress call a week ago, but the Zorthians were a young and technologically primitive race on the galactic scale; the amphibians having reached the stars found out that they were, if anything, below average.

Outside of a vague curiosity all the Federation had really done was register their species and make sure everyone's translators where all speaking on the same protocol. Apart from this the Federation was useless, a collection of every sapient species that did nothing but keep everyone's translators up to date and hosted neutral ground upon which actual diplomatic actions were taken.

Upon hearing of the Zorthian's plight the Federation has scheduled a meeting to schedule a meeting about the issue. A meeting scheduled for 3 months time.

Unfortunately in the scale of the galaxy, the Zorthians were uninteresting and had no real allies. Well, technically they had one...

Fluur looked up at the sky through the glass of the building, wondering where the colony ship was now. If they'd have had more time, a month maybe, they could have possibly reattached all of the modules again, made them FTL capable and gotten most of the population off the planet. But they'd had a week and the decision was made to take the core module of the colony ship, make sure it was still FTL worthy, then fill it with as many tadpoles and caretakers as possible. Two days ago it had sailed off again into the stars with its precious cargo, leaving 2 million souls behind.

A light appeared in the sky, causing the amphibian to squint in confusion for a moment, wondering what the hell that was. Then another, and another, lights appearing until a V formation of 7 dots hung like diamonds next to the two moons.

Then the communicator to his right exploded into life, causing Fluur to practically molt out of his skin in one go. He paused for a moment, staring at the device, wondering if the intoxicants he'd drunk had had too much of an effect, before desperately scrambling over the chaos of the room and slamming a 3 fingered hand on the accept call button. The screen blared to life, causing the red frills on the top of his head to expand in shock at what was now visible to him. It was somehow... a Terran?

The Terrans were technically their allies, the only species to reach out across the void and offer friendship, to offer support and aid where needed. It had originally been confusing, until other the other races of the galaxy just explained that this is just what Terrans did: a species of chaotic apes originating from a planet that shouldn't be able to harbour life.

They were known for two things: Being crazy enough to build an AI that somehow hadn't killed them yet, and their desire to experience new things: They would practically fall over themselves to meet new species. Up until now that alliance had always assumed to be ceremonial. The Zorthians had nothing to offer in such an agreement, and even if they did the Terrans were quite literally on the other side of the galaxy. Expecting their help would be like expecting to catch lighting in a bottle.

Yet there she was in front of him, beaming with a big smile below a mop of auburn hair.

"Well Howdy there partner! I'm Captain Amander Blake of the trading fleet Texas Forever, although right now representin' the Terran Alliance. I heard ya all in a pickle and need a pick me up?"

It took him a moment to gather his wits, stumbling over his words as he tried to dispel the numb feeling in his body and sober up in record time.

"I'm Fluur of.... here? We need an evacuation as soon as possible."

His face fell as he realized that this wasn't quite the miracle they needed. There were only 7 ships in the sky, Flurr trying to do some quick math in his intoxicated brain on how many Zorthians could fit. Maybe they could get half the remaining tadpoles and caretakers onboard? Anything was better than nothing, but Fluur still responded with a forlorn tone.

"You need to approach quietly to the location I'm sending you, we don't have much time left".

"You ain't kiddin, your planet looks like it's about to pop." The general mirth of the Terran frankly inappropriate for the situation as she grinned back through the transmission viewer "I'm gonna be declin' that suggestion though, get ya'll to the three locations I'm a transmitin and I reckon we might just make it."

A frown covered Fluur's face, frills again opening up in worry as he stared back at the Terran from his dark unlit room.

"We have 2 million people on the planet, and while I'm glad you're here... there's only seven of you. Telling everyone could cause a riot, we need to focus on the tadpoles."

The long laugh caused the amphibian to jump again as the grin on Amanda's face increased tenfold.

"Bless your heart, but I ain't the only one here, we just got here first!"

Almost on cue three more lights appeared in the sky and another communication request blared out; this time showing a reptilian face joining the call.

"Head Scientist Kedrid, Ritilian Scientific expedition Alpha-Charlie446, temporarily representing the Terran alliance. You require assistance?"

"Yes! But you're still only ten vessels and-"

More lights appeared cutting off Fluur's worried objection, a flurry of communication requests requiring his full effort just to respond and link everyone together. Each grouping was of less then 10 vessels, but the sheer number of groups responding to the Zorthian's call for aid were staring to fill the sky with tens, then hundreds of new lights in the night. Species the Zorthians had only vaguely interacted with, ones they didn't even know existed, each species bringing what they had in the area to help. Fluur didn't know when he started crying, the feeling of terror and despair that he'd been blocking with copious amounts of intoxicants now being broken down by a flood of relief, relief that somehow, in the cold void of the universe a miracle had happened.

"Awww, bless your little cotton socks! Ya'll didn't think that we'd leave you adorable frogs out to dry did ya?"

As the sky continued to light up with more and more ships entering the atmosphere, Fluur was beholding the true strength of Terrans. It wasn't their technology or their AI. It wasn't their chaos or persistence, nor was it their reckless approach to science. No, the strength of the Terran's came from the one thing they were exceptional at in the galaxy.

Their ability to make friends.

[lunaiz4-misc]

Baubles

"Human, what is the purpose of the head covering you are wearing?"

"This? It's a hat, it keeps my head warm."

"Yes, I understand that, but why does it have a ball of strings on the top?"

"Oh, that? It's called a bauble, or a pom-pom. They're mainly used for decoration, but I've heard they originated with sailors, who used them as a sort of sensory extension so they'd know when they were about to hit their heads."

"That is BRILLIANT. Can you show me how to make one?"

"You knit?"

"Sure! Loads of us do! Knitting is one of the most basic ways of turning fiber into cloth, most sapient species have something like it. Show me how to make this 'bauble.'"

*a few weeks later*

"Do you like it?"

"Um... yeah, it's great. You really like baubles, huh?"

"I love them. I posted a tutorial video online, it's well on its way to being the new fashion."

"That's... great bud. Good for you."

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Savage wisdom

*A debate between an Elder species and a young human over humanities intervention in an unfolding galactic disaster after the Elder species refused to get involved.

Human: What?

H: Do you come to critique me old one?

H: Do you object to how I handled things?

H: You have no grounds on which to lecture me.

Alien: Mind your tone.

A: I am older than the stars themselves little one; my wisdom is the stuff of ages.

H: You are indeed old and wise, but what have you done with that knowledge?

H: Nothing.

H: You have sat and watched from afar as we have struggled to survive innumerable problems that you could have fixed in a blink of an eye.

A: Then what would you have learned?

H: The dead learn nothing, and the grieving care not for your pontificating.

A: And what if I had intervened as you insist?

A: If my people solved every problem and minor dilemma you younger races face, what growth could be expected of you?

A: You would become nothing more than pale mockeries of who you are now.

A: Lesser than that even; creatures so afraid of your own shadows that you would cling to my robes like an adolescent.

A: A life without struggle, without hardship, will leave you frail and weak; and this is a galaxy that does not tolerate the neither for long.

H: You speak as if we asked you to move the stars themselves!

A: It does not matter what the request was, nor that we refused it; only that you came to make it at all

H: So that’s it then?

H: The most powerful species in the galaxy and you are content to sit on the sidelines while we play out our lives?

A: You still do not see….

H: Then make me!

H: Show me what I am missing!

H: End your parade of riddles and half-truths and give me a straight answer!

*Alien ascends to full height towering over the mortal human

A: Were you naught taught that your actions have consequences!?

A: You throw a stone into a river and it casts a ripple.

A: I throw a stone and it casts a tidal wave!

A: Worlds would burn, galaxies snuffed from existence, trillions of lives looking up to the heavens begging me and my kind to save them from their inevitable demise we could no more prevent than I could stop the sun from rising!

A: And you have the arrogance to come before me and think you can cast judgment for my inaction!

*Alien leans down to glare at human

A: I have seen the lure of power corrupt time and again and all too quickly does the adulation of the masses turn to screams as those with power become consumed by it.

A: The universe becomes nothing more than a playground and those within it toys to be played with then cast aside.

A: In your tongue you call these beings “Gods”, and that is what you would make of us.

H: We would not.

A: Do not lie to me!

A: I have seen your histories little one.

A: I know those we save would build monuments in our name, pray and offer us gifts and sacrifices for our favor, and not long after denounce any who would not believe as they do an cast them into the fires of war and hatred.

A: The younger species would place us upon a throne high atop a mountain of corpses and call it paradise.

*Alien retreats from human and begins pacing away.

A: You asked if my kind was content to simply watch.

A: We are not.

A: I am not.

A: But such are the ways of the universe.

H: * Shakes head

H: I don’t believe that.

A: *Laughs

A: One day you’ll see it as I do.

*Alien begins to vanish into dense smoke cloud

A: That is, if you can survive that long.